The French Quarter
by valistus
Summary: Auror Hermione Granger is sent to New Orleans, Louisiana after Draco Malfoy disappears when collecting an inheritance. What should have been a standard missing wizard case turns into something far more sinister, and soon Hermione finds herself entangled in a dark web of secrets.
1. Part I

**Pairing:** Hermione/Draco

 **Era:** Post-Hogwarts

 **Summary:** Auror Hermione Granger is sent to New Orleans, Louisiana after Draco Malfoy disappears when collecting an inheritance. What should have been a standard missing wizard case turns into something far more sinister, and soon Hermione finds herself entangled in a dark web of secrets.

 **Rating:** M

 **Warnings:** Dark!Draco, Dark!Hermione, Sexual Themes, Gore/Violence, Harry x Hermione/ Ron x Hermione (endpoint is Dramione).

 **Disclaimer:** This creation is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made, no copyright or trademark infringement, or offense is intended.

 **Author's Notes:** I got the idea for this story when I was visiting NOLA with a friend. There's something alluring and dangerously inviting about walking the streets of the French Quarter under a full moon. We took a night-walk tour and one of our stops was the apartment of the Carter Brothers. It was then, when my eyes squinted to get a better look of the apartment, and a chill ran up my spine that the idea sparked. I hoped to finish it before Halloween but life duties got in the way. Anyway, here it is and I hope you all enjoy! Your feedback is always welcome.

* * *

 **February 24, 2003**

A grunt penetrated the dark room.

Hermione closed her eyes, lips parted in concentration at the feel of her lover's fingers gripping her waist, pulling her down, closer and closer to the release she seeked. With half-lidded eyes she raked her nails down the man's sweat-glistened chest, enjoying the feel of his heart growing frantic under her palm. She angled her hips as they rose before pressing down roughly onto his, earning another satisfied grunt from him.

"Hermione," he whispered.

She closed her eyes again, refusing to meet his searching gaze. It was filled with too much meaning—too much emotion and it was overwhelming. The witch didn't want to analyze how the dynamic of their friendship was changing. She didn't want to look into those green eyes when she was unable to match the emotion his held. All Hermione wanted to do was banish the hurt and drown it in pleasure. Wasn't that why they did this? Wasn't that why they acted as if nothing of the sorts took place in her bedroom when they were on duty?

Hermione moaned, arching her back as he pushed his hips up into her, burying himself deep enough to push her over the edge of her climax. She rode out the dizzying waves of pleasure as he soon followed her. She could feel him coat her walls with his release.

Opening her eyes once more, she found Harry looking up at her with sleep beginning to coat his stare. She knew what he was thinking, knew perfectly well that he wanted to fall asleep with her in his arms, but he wouldn't ask—would never reveal that desire because it would tip the scale of this already confounding relationship. And Hermione took comfort in this, despite the guilt, she could carry on as though their relationship only served to release the pent up emotions that usually built up through the weeks.

She listened as their breathing grew less erratic by the second, chest tightening when she felt his fingers rub soothing patterns on her thigh. It was then that she decided to break the spell, fearing it was getting to be too personal again. Hermione ignored the look of disappointment that flashed upon his crumbling mask while she climbed off of him with ease. Her long locks shielded her naked chest as the witch walked towards the lilac-colored robe that hung on her bathroom's door knob. She heard the bed creak under Harry's weight as he sat up while her fingers tied a knot above her belly button in a vain effort to feign modesty, if not for her, then for Harry's sake. She moved to open the window that hung beside the foot of her bed, shivering as the night's cool air caressed her heated skin. Brown eyes watered against the wind as they took in the quiet scenery below her apartment.

Harry cleared his throat, earning the attention of Hermione. She turned to look at him just as he buttoned up his trousers. She watched him run his fingers through his soft hair in an attempt to banish the disheveled look he currently sported. He was endearing despite it all, she found herself thinking, unable to hide the small smile that stretched the corners of her lips.

He grabbed his coat off her nightstand and walked towards her. She could feel her heart hammering in her ears with each step he took, praying to Merlin that he wouldn't do anything they would regret in the morning. But the prayer went unanswered as she felt his lips press against the corner of her mouth in subtle defiance, the action screaming out what Hermione already knew: he was falling for her, and he wanted more.

Despite her uneasy state, Hermione brushed a strand of hair away from Harry's eyes, smiling faintly before her hand returned to her side. She watched him purse his lips as he debated whether he should say what was on the cusp of his tongue. He must have decided against it, for he simply returned her smile and bid her a goodnight.

"I'll see you tomorrow then."

She nodded.

"Sleep well, Hermione."

"Sleep well, Harry," she whispered out as he walked through the threshold of her bedroom, closing the door behind him.

The woman let out the shaky breath she'd been holding in. The stillness that now settled in her room was sublime. She made her way into the bathroom, using wandless magic to light the candles that sat on her windowsill. Hot water crashed against her tub as it filled. She sat on the edge of it, eyes staring absentmindedly into the mirror above her sink.

It would be Ron's birthday soon, Hermione realized with a dull ache.

She shut the running water and shrugged off her robe, enjoying the way it pooled at her feet before dipping her leg into the steaming tub. Her body tingled as the heat pressed against her now reddening skin almost painfully. As she settled against the back of the tub she found the pain to be a relief. It soothed the ache in her heart as intrusive memories of her ginger lover began to rip through her mind. Were he still alive, he would've turned twenty-five this year. She wondered how different her life would have been had he not died alongside Ginny at the final battle.

Would they be married?

Hermione couldn't picture it anymore—the two of them happily wedded. She was no longer the girl he'd fallen for all those years ago. Calloused by time, Hermione seldom let herself fall into silly notions such as love. She was far too busy being an Auror these days to even consider it.

 _But Harry doesn't seem to think so_ , she thought, sinking deeper into the water as guilt-infested visions of Harry soon replaced Ron.

It had been only natural that the two turn to each other for comfort when they'd both lost their partners. It seemed that no matter what condolences were offered, they could find no peace unless in the vicinity of one another. It had been a torrential hell that they'd both walked through, hand-in-hand until they found it easier to banish the dark emotions that settled in their hearts. Every year they would take a trip together and strip off the masks they wore, embracing the hurt that always seemed to prickle their skin, imbibing copious amounts of alcohol until they couldn't tell the ceiling from the floor.

It was on the third year of their lovers' death anniversary when they'd slept together. There was no love-making to be had that night. It was primal, with nails and teeth in lieu of lips and tongues. They hadn't talked about it the next day, silently deciding it better to pretend it never happened. And it went on like that, going on missions together, working fluidly until one of them began to hurt. That was when they would do it all over again with clashing teeth and scratched skin.

But it seemed now that it had turned into more than a primal urge for Harry. He began to look at Hermione with different eyes, she noticed—eyes that had once looked upon Ginny. Merlin, there was nothing _wrong_ with moving on, but it _felt_ wrong to her. No matter how many times she wrapped her mind around the vision of waking up to Harry every morning, she couldn't swallow the sickening feeling that accompanied it.

So she did what came naturally to her, placing a mask of a naïve woman who was completely unaware of his subtle advances. And it hurt him, Hermione knew it hurt Harry to play this game, but she could find no romantic feelings to offer him. Her heart had died on the day Ron had and it was a a sadness she'd chosen to embrace.

Her fingers threaded through her wet locks, lapping up soap into them as various thoughts pressed against her head. And she silently wondered if she would always feel this hollow. As her soapy fingers gently cleaned her feminine folds, Hermione had an inkling that she would.

* * *

A deep frown adorned Hermione's features. Her fingers gripped the Manila folder that held Draco Malfoy's picture. His icy blue eyes bore holes through her and though it was just a photograph, she couldn't fight off the chill that coursed through her spine. Looking at the continuous loop of Malfoy staring into the camera and then looking away caused a vaguely familiar notion to spring within her. That look felt so familiar and yet she couldn't place her finger on it.

She set the folder down, brows furrowed together as she racked her brain for a memory of Malfoy, but it felt like static and just as quickly as it came did her mind replace the blurry memories with Ron.

Hm.

"Sleep well?"

She blinked, eyes turning away from her desk to greet her partner. Hermione smiled, shrugging her shoulders as her fingers drummed idly on the oak desk. "As well as well can be," she muttered.

Harry nodded his agreement, placing a steaming cup of coffee before her, exactly as she liked it—scolding hot, minimal cream, and heavy on the sugar. She really ought to switch back to tea, she mused while gripping the mug. The acidity in the coffee was beginning to show its effects on the woman. But as the liquid burned a trail down to her stomach, she filed the idea for another time.

"So, Malfoy's gone missing? What was he doing in the States? I haven't thought of that git in years. Isn't he running some sort of modern corporation?"

Hermione's frown returned once more, contemplative eyes skimming through the report. She watched Harry from her peripheral vision as he took a seat on the corner of her desk. He rested the palm of his hand close to where hers laid. _Too close for comfort_ , she mentally assessed as she placed her hand on her thigh, ignoring the frown on her partner's lips. It seemed to be getting harder for him to act normally. She was almost tempted to confront him on the matter but found that her Gryffindor courage was not what it used to be.

"Yes, Immortalis Industries—I think. Apparently, he had a distant uncle—Ambrosius Malfoy, living in New Orleans, Louisiana. He died, leaving his estate and possessions to Malfoy—which makes no sense. According to Narcissa Malfoy, he'd never met Draco. Conceding to the will, Malfoy had to show up in person to retrieve it. He took a portkey two weeks ago today and has not been seen since."

"Maybe the bloke is enjoying his inheritance and wants to be left alone."

A subtle tingling sensation began to press against Hermione's skin, beckoning her to a place she could not fathom. It warmed her and the woman could feel a blush begin to stain her comely features. Perhaps she was growing ill?

Harry's words finally filtered through her mind. She shook her head in disagreement. "No, no I don't believe that. Narcissa is not faring well, Harry, you know that. She is the only immediate family Draco has left. He wouldn't purposely leave her alone for so long without so much as an owl to her."

"You seem to know what sort of man, _Draco_ is," Harry piped.

Hermione ignored the ridiculous jealousy that seemed to lace his words. But despite ignoring them out loud, her mind thought otherwise.

 _What sort of man_ is _Draco? Why am I able to answer that?_

A sharp pang pressed against her temple. The pain had been so surprising that Hermione jumped in her chair, earning a worrisome look from Harry. She felt him gently grip her shoulder as she rubbed her temple soothingly.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I—," she inhaled sharply as his fingers brushed a strand of lock behind her ear in what seemed like a loving gesture.

Hermione rose from her chair, smiling at her friend as she cleared her throat. Her office suddenly seemed too small—too personal. She could feel the walls closing in on her. _Another bloody panic attack_ , she mentally huffed, straining to pull herself together. It always seemed to get harder to control her emotions when Ron's birthday came up.

 _Thinking of Draco—_ , she stilled her movements for a second, realizing she'd voiced Draco's name in her mind, not Ron's. She'd meant to say that thinking of Ron made her feel sick sometimes.

"I didn't sleep well and I had no time to grab a decent breakfast."

Harry seemed to believe her. She often complained about that combination of problems. Hermione knew he couldn't reprimand her for failing to provide subsistence for herself since he often didn't fare any better on the matter himself.

She busied herself with the watering of her various plants, surmising that if she took long enough, Harry would grow bored and retrieve to his own case load. She'd been so relieved upon finding out that Narcissa requested Hermione specifically handle the case, feeling that the young witch would be much more adept at finding Draco than anyone else. The woman had already contacted the Auror division in New Orleans and she'd booked a portkey for the coming Thursday.

"Will you be alright?"

Her shoulders scrunched at his words. As the water dripped onto the pot she mulled over the seemingly innocent question, enjoying the scent of wet dirt that began to take hold of her office. She was relieved that she'd be in New Orleans on Ron's birthday. She couldn't bear having to visit the remaining Weasleys. Arthur would smile with those sad eyes of his and the twins would be quiet, no longer finding the humor in life with two siblings and their mother gone. The melancholy would be palpable and Hermione didn't want another year of it. This trip would do her heart good.

"Of course, Harry." She turned to face him, eyes shining with appreciation for her friend's concern. "You know me better than that," she chuckled.

Hermione wondered if Harry would agree to that—to the lie of truly knowing her. The war had plagued them all with demons. Some were more prominent than others, some more damaging and nightmare-inducing. She'd seeked a muggle therapist after it was all said and done, cutting out a new version of herself from the tattered young girl that remained after the war. Perhaps Harry did know her once upon a time, her erstwhile tendencies mapped out in his youthful mind. But now all he really knew was her pain and body.

"You're right," he answered, and it didn't surprise Hermione that he'd hesitated before agreeing.

He gathered his bearings, stifling a yawn before making his way to the door. With a dazzling smile, he angled his head to the side. "Lunch later?"

"Yes, that would be lovely."

With a nod of agreement, he left her alone, closing the door behind him.

She returned to her desk, quickly finding the picture she'd gazed into earlier. Her fingers pulled the image out of the folder. Her chest tightened, the tingling sensation she'd felt earlier returning tenfold. Try as she might, Hermione could not locate one clear memory of Draco after her fourth year in Hogwarts. It seemed that when she attempted to think of a time they'd crossed paths, her thoughts would go to Ron.

The woman brought the picture closer to her line of vision, inspecting every detail of the man. It was a recent picture, one that his mother had taken before his trip to the States. The elder witch had taken up the curious hobby of photography. She had quite the eye, Hermione assessed. He looked so celestial, with his porcelain skin and sharp cheekbones. His hair was longer now in his older age, parted at the side and smoothed to the back in a Victorian-esque manner that seemed to suit him.

She pressed her lips into a straight line, eyes squinting at his picture. It felt as though he were purposely looking at her, teasing her with the reality of something she was not aware.

"What secrets are you hiding, Draco Malfoy?" She placed the picture down onto her desk with an exhausted sigh before making her way out of the office, failing to realize how his eyes followed her movements.


	2. Part II

**Pairing:** Hermione/Draco

 **Era:** Post-Hogwarts

 **Summary:** Auror Hermione Granger is sent to New Orleans, Louisiana after Draco Malfoy disappears when collecting an inheritance. What should have been a standard missing wizard case turns into something far more sinister, and soon Hermione finds herself entangled in a dark web of secrets.

 **Rating:** M

 **Warnings:** Dark!Draco, Dark!Hermione, Sexual Themes, Gore/Violence, Harry x Hermione/ Ron x Hermione (endpoint is Dramione).

 **Disclaimer:** This creation is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made, no copyright or trademark infringement, or offense is intended.

 **Author's Notes:** So, the mention of the Carter Brothers in this chapter is as accurate as I was told by the tour guide. I also did a bit of research on them and found everything to coincide. Thanks so much for all the reviews! I hope you all continue to enjoy. Feedback is always appreciated.

* * *

 **Part II**

 **February 9, 2003**

Various hues of gold light that came from the fireplace splashed across the French décor that made up Draco's drawing room. He sat idly in a wooden chair carved with intricate detail. His long fingers gripped a worn sheet of parchment while his other fingers drummed against the marble table to his right.

Curiosity piqued, he read the letter various times over in attempts to ascertain a clear reasoning as to why an uncle—whom he'd never met, had decided to leave Draco his estate and worldly possessions. He hadn't even been aware that his father had a brother. Lucius certainly never mentioned it to him. His mother stated that Ambrosius Malfoy was a ward of Draco's grandfather. He'd sent the boy overseas at the tender age of twelve with a hefty inheritance to hold him over until he could build his own fortune. The reasoning for this escaped Draco. He could not surmise a logical idea as to why his grandfather would even care for someone that wasn't blood-related.

He would've asked Lucius if he wasn't currently rotting in the dirt.

The grand clock chimed, alerting the wizard of the time. Draco sighed, no closer to solving this curious mystery than before. He dropped the letter carelessly on the table and gripped the glass of firewhisky. Taking a long sip, he revealed in the way it burned down to his stomach, eyes prickling at the corners.

"Darling?"

He looked over his shoulder, offering his mother a half-smile in acknowledgement. He was glad to see she was in higher spirits now despite how pale and sickly she'd become since growing ill. Draco rose from the chair and walked to where she stood, taking her hand into his and pressing a tender kiss on her knuckles.

"Are you feeling well, mother? I didn't want to disrupt your sleep so I ate dinner alone. Are you hungry?"

She smiled at him and the sight tightened his chest. She looked so pained despite trying her best to mask it. But Draco could see it—the way she fought to maintain an air of regal authority as was custom of a proper Malfoy Lady.

"Oh darling, don't fret over me. I'm well enough. I simply came to see if you've made a decision. Will you be traveling to the Americas?"

He led her to the seat he'd previously taken, leaning against the table beside her. His grey eyes gazed tiredly through the sheer curtains that covered their window. Snow continued to fall, blanketing the grass and fountain. It almost looked like a postcard he'd once been given.

He frowned, silently reprimanding himself for thinking of her. The wizard shoved back the image of the witch into the dark crevices of his mind, refusing to analyze it. He'd grown awfully skilled at banishing her when she'd manage to slip through the cracks of his head.

"I won't be gone long. I've set up a portkey for tomorrow. I'm expecting to take three days at the most," smiled lightly.

Narcissa nodded, her hands resting on her lap. Her brows furrowed in deep thought and Draco wondered if something was bothering her. Before he could ask about her wellbeing or whether he should even put off the trip for a later date she spoke, "That's fine darling. I will be well taken care of while you're gone. I expect you to let me know when you've settled in. Where will you be staying?"

"Monteleone—it's a wizarding hotel located on the French Quarter. I've already requested a suite for when I arrive. They have a Floo Network set up that will make it easy for me to contact you."

"I've heard of Monteleone, quite the following with the spirits that roam the halls and whatnot."

Draco chuckled softly, pouring himself another glass of firewhisky while pretending to overlook her disapproving features. "Yes, they've had to charm the ghostly guests so that the muggles won't see them as often. New Orleans seems to be an attractive place for them, which is a bit disconcerting. I will look into placing the estate on sale when I see it. I won't be using it."

"You should keep it, darling. It would be a nice place to escape if the need arises."

The blonde wizard studied his mother with great interest. If he strained himself enough he could hear the way she wheezed with every breath she took. He nodded in agreement, content to satisfy her with his complete compliance. He wanted nothing more than to please her these days. When the doctor paid his weekly visit the day before, he'd told Draco that his mother's health continued to deteriorate. It wouldn't be long before she succumbed to her sickness.

"Let's get you back in bed, mother."

It wouldn't be long before he was completely alone.

* * *

A look of disgust marred Draco's aristocratic features. He stood in an ocean of both muggles and magical folk as groups of drunken people walked and stumbled past him. The humid air and stench of alcohol made the wizard sick. He frowned at the realization that his attire was vastly inappropriate considering the hot, sticky weather. Silently, he cast a cooling charm in hopes it would make his clothing bearable.

He pulled out a piece of parchment from his trousers, making sure he arrived at the sight he'd been told. Standing on the corner of Bourbon Street and St. Ann Street, he took in the curious sight of various spectators both magical and non imbibing copious amounts of alcohol. Trash littered the floor, covering what should have been asphalt. Laughter and various excited chatter filled his ears as he walked down St. Ann Street, avoiding the drunken muggles that would run into him on occasion.

Upon passing the intersection of St Ann and Royal St, he noticed a man leaning against what looked to be the entrance to a gallery. The man wore faded blue jeans and a wrinkled plaid shirt. His bushy mustache gave him the cliché look of a cowboy Draco had heard of. The wizard dipped his hands in his pocket, sighing out at the comforting feel of his wand nestled safely inside. The man's watchful eyes followed Draco's every step. Passing the stranger, Draco could hear his echoing footsteps even beyond all the noise. He turned his eyes subtly, moving his head over his shoulder to find the man following him.

Draco turned to him, a scowl on his pale features which stopped the man dead in his tracks. They regarded one another with opposing interests. The man took a lone step closer to Draco, who in turn gripped his wand, ready to strike if need be. Silently, Draco cast a notice-me-not charm around him to avoid wandering eyes. The last thing he needed was to be detained in a deplorable American jail for use of magic on a muggle.

"You goin' in the Carter Brothers' building?" The thick Southern accent broke through the silence as the stranger spoke.

"What are you on about?"

"You're a limey," the man quipped with an amused expression mapping out his features.

The jab at his nationality stirred annoyance within the wizard. He was almost tempted to question the man's breeding but thought better of it and simply shrugged a shoulder.

"There's trouble in there that building. You best keep your wits about you, kid. Something ain't right with the place, I'll tell you that. Strange things happen in there—dark things."

Draco chuckled, bemused smirk stretching his lips. "I can handle myself, thanks ever so." Merlin, were American muggles odd.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

A new voice resonated behind the wizard. He turned his head to the source and found a taller man wearing a black trench coat. He carried a briefcase in one hand and a folder in the other. Draco nodded at the man, turning back to the stranger only to find him gone.

"My name is Michael Jacobs. I'm sorry I'm late. There's a storm coming in and I had to make sure we were all stocked up on necessities in case we get flooded."

Draco frowned, unable to shake the shiver that coursed through his anatomy. Deciding to tally it off that encounter as a mere drunk, he turned his attention fully to the lawyer. "Does this area flood?"

"Oh no, the French Quarter is actually a few feet above the sea level. You don't have to worry about the building getting flooded."

They walked towards the estate in question. It loomed over them as the sun began to make its decent. The blood orange building stood curiously, pressed against two other buildings side-by-side. The shutters stood out in a forest green color and the intricately designed banisters looked like dark vines across the top floor. It was charming, if not a bit eccentric considering its colour scheme. Draco figured that was simply how the buildings in the French Quarter were designed. It wouldn't matter anyway, he had every intention of selling the estate eventually.

Michael pulled out the folder from under his arm, setting the briefcase on the floor. He glanced up at the building with what Draco thought to be worried eyes.

 _Strange things happen in there—dark things._

He heard the previous man's words ring in Draco's head as he waited for the attorney to speak. Suddenly feeling on edge, Draco cleared his throat.

"Yes well, let's get started," the attorney complied.

They walked across the narrow street, stopping just before the door. The lawyer set his briefcase down once more, digging into his pockets to take hold of the keys. As he opened the entrance he began to speak, "Your uncle opened small businesses on the first floor. The second floor was used as a large apartment. He must have changed his mind though because he kicked all the business out and renovated the inside of it into a house of sorts."

The door creaked as it opened. The lawyer held out his arm to indicate that Draco should step in first. With a passing glance at the muggle, Draco stepped in. All at once a cold burst of air pressed against his body. He did not want to be in there.

"As you can see, there's a hotel on the street opposite to us. They tried buying the property from your uncle but obviously they were unable to do so."

"Why didn't he sell it?"

Michael stopped at the foot of the stairs that lead to the second floor. He flipped the switch that flickered dim lights on. The floors creaked under the weight of the men as they stood before the stairs. It seemed as though the muggle was not entirely comfortable with being there and this notion further tensed Draco.

With one last look upstairs, Michael turned his attention to Draco. "I didn't know your uncle very well, but what I gathered from our occasional meetings was that he was obsessed with this place. He may have been a history buff and very much into the supernatural."

An elegant brow rose in question. Draco did his best to fight off the smirk that threatened to appear. "Supernatural?"

"Well you are in New Orleans, Mr. Malfoy. Strange things are known to happen in these streets. This building was once home to the Carter Brothers, you know."

The name stilled Draco, he frowned in annoyance. "Who are the Carter Brothers?"

The attorney looked surprised, as though he'd never met a being who wasn't aware of the brothers. Michael matched his counterpart's frown before answering, "they were around in the 1930's you see, back when people would come here to work on the Mississippi River. They lived upstairs and kept mostly to themselves. One day this girl ran to the sheriff's station and lead them back here. They found decomposing bodies and some alive that were strapped to chairs with their wrists sliced open.

"The brothers had been kidnapping people and draining their blood to drink it."

Draco's curiosity piqued. It seemed like a glorified tale of two murders. There was no possible way they could've been vampires—those creatures had been extinct since The Great Purge of 1703. Vampires were simply non-existent in this day and age.

"What happened to the brothers?"

"Well, the police staked out the apartment until they got back from working in river. It took about eight men to bring them down but eventually they got them and when they died they threw their bodies in a sarcophagus."

Draco nodded, satisfied with the end of the story. He began his ascent into the upstairs, disliking the involuntary chill that pressed down the length of his back. He strained his eyes through the darkness, carefully making his way to the first door he found. Gripping the worn knob, he paused momentarily before taking a deep breath and pushing the door open.

Terror shined in Draco's grey eyes at the scene before him. A man's familiar voice resonated right behind him—the man who'd warned him before meeting the attorney.

"They opened that tomb a while later and found it clean of any bodies of decomposing bits. They haven't been found since."

Those were the last words the wizard heard before his consciousness faded to black.


	3. Part III

**Pairing:** Hermione/Draco

 **Era:** Post-Hogwarts

 **Summary:** Auror Hermione Granger is sent to New Orleans, Louisiana after Draco Malfoy disappears when collecting an inheritance. What should have been a standard missing wizard case turns into something far more sinister, and soon Hermione finds herself entangled in a dark web of secrets.

 **Rating:** M

 **Warnings:** Dark!Draco, Dark!Hermione, Sexual Themes, Gore/Violence, Harry x Hermione/ Ron x Hermione (endpoint is Dramione).

 **Disclaimer:** This creation is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made, no copyright or trademark infringement, or offense is intended.

 **Author's Notes** : There are adult themes up ahead. Nothing too explicit, but read at your own discretion. Enjoy! Let me know what you think.

* * *

 **February 25, 2003 3:17AM**

 _"You're going to regret this in the morning, Granger," the whispering voice sent a shiver coursing through the young girl. The cold stone walls of Hogwarts served as a welcome contrast to her heated body. She closed her eyes as his fingers ghosted over her thighs. Her dress was bunched at her waist, arms clinging onto her counterpart's shoulders. Teeth sank down onto her lips as she stifled a moan at the feel of his fingers tracing patterns over her clothed folds._

 _"I don't care," she replied hoarsely._

 _The young man chuckled, his breath trickling over her neck before he nibbled on her earlobe. He cupped her sex, dragging his fingers until he pressed them onto her clit. Her knees buckled, fingers digging into his crumbled dress shirt. She sought his lips, moaning into their heated kiss as a lone finger dipped into her, not bothering to mention how mildly impressed she was when she felt him vanish her panties._

 _"Merlin," she groaned out, effectively breaking the kiss as her head pressed against the wall in a vain attempt to maintain her equilibrium._

 _In what seemed like an uncharacteristic manner to Hermione, her lover pumped his fingers into her gently, thumb brushing teasingly over her clit with every other stroke. She shivered as his lips sucked on the nape of her neck. Hermione's nails racked down his back, silently hoping he would leave a mark—wanting to see the results of his ministrations on her when she looked in the mirror. Needing to hear his own sounds of pleasure, her defty fingers dragged down to his crotch, cupping him over his trousers and giving him a gentle squeeze. He felt hard under her skin. She could feel the heat radiate from his need and picturing him inside her only served to ignite the desire deep within her belly further._

 _He grunted, biting down on her skin. "Little minx. You've got everyone fooled, haven't you? What would the Weasel think if he knew of our little meetings?"_

 _Her eyes clenched shut as his pumps grew rougher, bringing her closer to a crescendo of passion she wanted to succumb to. "He's probably off in a broom closet with Lavender," she sighed out as she enjoyed her lover's tongue tracing the shell of her ear._

 _The young man pressed his fingers down onto her clit before continuing his assault on her neck. Hermione massaged his crotch, only to have him push her hand away before she heard him whisper out, "not tonight."_

 _With a few final strokes, she cried out, fingers digging into his shoulder blades as her climax washed over her. Her dress clung to her sweat-glistened body almost uncomfortably, but she failed to care as she continued to ride out her waves of pleasure on his skilled hand. As the high of her release settled, body thoroughly satisfied, his fingers slipped out of her wet folds. Hermione felt his lips kiss her temple as his hands pulled down the hem of her dress, effectively hiding what she'd only ever revealed to the man before her._

 _"You'll hate me tomorrow," he whispered out._

 _Hermione's eyes opened to look into his. Her gaze was still glazed over with dwindling desire as she took in his disheveled appearance. She placed her palm on his cheek. The girl felt her stomach somersault when he made no move to push her touch away as he'd often done in their previous encounters. Perhaps it was the firewhisky she'd sipped before they found themselves in this position. Perhaps it was the notion that the impending danger would be upon them soon._

 _Whatever the reasoning, she didn't filter her words as she replied, "I could never."_

Cinnamon eyes snapped open. The darkness that was still present in her room helped orient the witch as she regarded her surroundings with caution. Wand in hand, she cast a soft _lumos,_ lighting up the vicinity. A thin layer of sweat clung to her skin. Her breathing calmed as she inhaled deeply, swinging her legs over the bed to sit up.

A shameful urge of debauchery coursed through her veins as her memory recapped the vivid dream. Her body pulsed, unable to shake the feel of the ministrations she received in the dream. Hermione was almost tempted to floo Harry but thought better of it. _Best not add wood to the fire,_ she sighed. With another deep breath, she made her way into the bathroom. Shaky hands turned the faucet of her sink. She cupped them under the running water, splashing the cool liquid on her face soon after.

 _That wasn't a dream. That felt like a memory,_ she frowned.

Her eyes gazed into her reflection coming from the mirror above the sink. Dainty hands gripped the edges of the sink firmly. Hermione squinted at herself, replaying the dream before she forgot it come morning. She tried to remember who the man was but it felt like static. And just as before, her thoughts trailed to Ron.

But she knew without a single doubt in her foggy mind that it had not been Ron in the dream. Though sweet, Ron had never been that skilled during their explorations into the opposite sex. No—the person who had pushed her into pit of smoldering pleasure was someone else—someone who seemed to know her body far more intimately than Ron ever had. Her eyes grew wide then, head shaking in confusion as she looked away from the mirror. Walking back into the bedroom, she'd only then realized that the window was open. The violet curtains danced as the night's soft wind blew gently through them. In an instant she'd shut it with a loud thud. Her heart hammered in her chest as she fought the static in her head that seemed to be eclipsing whatever it was she was trying to remember.

 _Ron he—no, no that's not what I mean to think._

A heavy heart weighed down on her chest. She placed a palm over it, brows furrowed in confusion. Merlin, she felt as though someone had trapped her into some sort of twilight zone. A victim of spell-casting was out of the question. Hermione was the most proficient Auror when it came to casting protective spells in her mind. No witch, wizard or magical creature could alter anything without her realizing it.

With a tired yawn, she reasoned her thinking was due to the exhaustion and instead crawled back under her sheets, soon succumbing to a dreamless sleep.

* * *

 **February 25, 2003 5:45PM**

A strained silence took hold of the women who sat before each other. Narcissa Malfoy watched the witch with great interest, seemingly bored eyes racking every detail of the young woman. The tension in the air was palpable, even more so knowing that her beloved son was now missing. Plagued with dreams of him through fever-stricken nights, when she would wake Narcissa found she desperately needed to contact Hermione Granger.

It was as though her son somehow placed the seed in her mind, enticing her to call the woman. And so she did, after two weeks of silence she'd decided to follow her instincts.

"I will be leaving tomorrow, Mrs. Malfoy. I think we've gone over everything necessary," the older of the two watched the fluid quill strokes of the Auror, jotting down every minuscule detail of their conversations.

The girl was very precise in everything she did, calculating down to how she placed her muggle pen to the side of the parchment. Narcissa wondered if it was a tick she'd acquired as a result of the war. Everyone who managed to live through the ghastly ordeal had some form of tick. Lucius Malfoy's had been drinking himself into a depression. When they'd taken all use of his magic he succumbed to a sadness Narcissa never fathomed one could fall into—especially a regal Malfoy. He'd become the thing he'd detested his entire life. Her husband only lasted a year before taking his own life, a decision that earned him an unmarked grave outside the family mausoleum.

Such an action was deemed despicable and cowardly in the Malfoy family.

Narcissa and her son hadn't even batted an eye. The loss of his life brought more comfort than despair. A longtime victim of his beatings, the elder witch could not pretend to even miss him. She had her son and that was enough for her.

But with this illness now taking hold of her anatomy, she found herself in a state of frenzy. The woman knew—could feel that her time in this world was almost up, and the thought of this did not scare her by any means. What scared her was Draco and how he would continue to live a life that was void of any love and affection.

A gleam caught the woman's attention as something small sparkled on Hermione's neck. Her tired eyes squinted for a moment only to grow wide. Quickly, she masked her features before clearing her throat. It brought forth the response she sought, taking a moment to still her racing thoughts as Hermione gazed at her quietly.

"That is a lovely necklace, darling. Where ever did you get it?"

Hermione blinked, fingers instantly rubbing against the silver chain before she pulled it out to reveal a green emerald encased in a silver nest dangling at the end. Any uncertainty Narcissa may have had upon seeing the jewelry quickly fizzled out of existence. Her throat tightened, fingers clenching the robes on her lap as she sat perfectly still. The beautiful necklace had been in her family for generations and she'd thought it had been lost during the last war when the Wizgenmont had seized the Malfoy fortune during their probation.

Clearly she'd been wrong, she silently noted as the woman watched it nestle beautifully between the young woman's clothed breasts.

Hermione frowned for a moment before resting her gaze onto Narcissa's face once more. Her thumb caressed the encased stone absentmindedly as she replied, "I don't remember, but it's rather comforting to have."

* * *

 **February 25, 2003 9:23PM**

 _A groan penetrated the stone walls as the couple continued their rhythmic movements. Hermione pressed her head against the rough surface as her hips pressed up to meet her lover's thrusts. Her fingers gripped his firm shoulders, crying out softly when his teeth sank into her neck._

 _She'd always loved it when he left marks on her. It filled her with a smug knowing that she could make him lose himself._

 _"Fuck, you feel so good around me."_

 _His words sparked a new surge of desire through her and she pulled his face towards her for a devouring kiss as he pressed into her with more roughness. She moaned against his lips. His tongue licked hers before biting down on the lower lip, earning another grunt from the woman. She wrapped her arms around his neck, ankles linking together just above his arse as he pushed inside her with full force._

 _"Come on Granger, I want to feel you come all over me."_

 _His crude words grunted into her ear. She shivered at the feel of his cool breath and as she felt his finger press against her clit she moaned out, doing just as he'd wanted. He followed her into bliss soon after._

 _As their breathing grew less ragged, he placed Hermione down, holding her steady when he felt her knees buckle. She thanked him softly, cinnamon eyes resting on his opened shirt. Her fingers went to button it, each stroke careful, slowly moving higher until his hands wrapped around hers, ceasing her movements. She glanced up at him through her lashes, holding her breath._

 _"I have something for you."_

 _Hermione could feel her heart hammer against her chest. She'd never heard his voice sound so soft before. It was filled with such care that she had to wonder if he was pulling the wool over her eyes. But she allowed him to take a step back from her and she used the new sense of clarity to tuck her shirt back into the folds of her skirt. She didn't bother to ask him for her knickers, knowing he seemed to enjoy collecting them._

 _She carefully watched him through the darkness, various sounds of the old school filling her ears as she began to chew on her lip. What could he possibly give her? Especially when this relationship of theirs confused her to no end. They were strangers outside of these classroom walls. And though she could ignore him throughout the day, Hermione was acutely aware that her heart always knew when he was around her._

 _Her lover pulled out a silver chain from his pocket, his eyes staring intently at the gem that swung with ease before the duo. It seemed to Hermione that he was on the cusp of saying something important before she heard him sigh. He took a step towards her and she couldn't fight the need to place her hands on his chest. His warmth instantly put her mind at ease. She could feel the cool touch of the necklace around her skin as he clasped it. A shiver ran through her as his fingers traced the chain, stopping between the valley of her breasts where the jewel was tucked._

 _"Thank you," she simply said, completely aware that her eyes spoke in volumes of what her voice couldn't conjure._

"Sleeping on the job again?"

Hermione's eyes snapped open, the haze of her candle's light riding the haze that came with being awoken in an abrupt state. She carefully sat up, rubbing her eyes as a tired yawn passed through her lips.

"What time is it?"

Harry chuckled, pushing himself off the door's threshold as he walked towards her. "Late enough that your presence in this office is obscene."

The woman looked around, eyes stopping at the array of notes that were neatly stacked on her desk. There was still so much to be done before heading off to The States. She wondered if Harry would watch Crookshanks while she was away. It wouldn't be long, she thought, hoping to find Malfoy soon. The woman had a feeling he wouldn't be hard to find and though this notion stemmed a curiosity within her, she took it as a sign of good faith.

Hermione let out an amused laugh before arching her back in an effort to stretch. She didn't fail to notice how Harry's eyes traveled to her breasts in the same moment.

Without another second to spare he was on her, pushing her back into the couch as his lips attacked her own, his fingers caressing the skin of her thigh before he pressed it against his hip. Hermione's own fingers ran through his tousled locks as she angled her hips so that her delicate folds met his firm need for her.

But as she kissed him she could not help but let her mind imagine the image of the lover in her dream. And when Harry stripped her and himself, she imagined the man in her dream pressing into her instead.


End file.
